


Can't Take The Heat? (Kill The Chef)

by honeyrosekisses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Dark Crack, Dubious Consent, F/M, He just wants to be happy, Hidden dark themes, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Not Muggle or modern with magic, Poor Harry, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tom is like Hannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-07 05:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16401884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyrosekisses/pseuds/honeyrosekisses
Summary: Harry just wants to be happy. But unfortunately his soulmate has different plans.





	Can't Take The Heat? (Kill The Chef)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cubedcoffeecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cubedcoffeecake/gifts).



Fred Weasley sat in Harry’s kitchen on a lovely Tuesday morning, pleading with him about a job opportunity.

  
“No,” Harry said blankly, still buttering his toast.

  
“Oh, come on, Harry!” Fred said, a low whiny leaving his lips. “You’re perfect for the job. I wouldn’t recommend anyone else.”

  
“Lucky me,” Harry replied dryly, “I always wanted to work for Riddle, whose notorious for making people cry into their Mum’s arms and fires people on Christmas. I can’t think of a _better_ person to work for.”

  
“Riddle isn’t _that_ bad.”

  
Harry lifted an eyebrow and shot Fred a bemused stare. “Just two days ago you said and I quote, ‘Riddle is terrible! It’s like he fires people because he’s bored.’ And then you stabbed into my turkey sandwich with your fork, which by the way, you still owe me a turkey sandwich.”

  
“Okay,” Fred amended, throwing his hands into the air. “I may have exaggerated his awfulness a _tiny bit_. But Nicole Smith - yes, the one with the horrible laugh - was fired yesterday and Riddle is holding live auditions for upcoming chefs. The job has your name on it. Did I forget to mention live auditions? In front of a _studio_ audience. They’ll even have snacks in between breaks.”

  
That got Harry’s attention. “What kind of snacks?”

  
Snack classification was extremely important.

  
“If I tell you will you sign up?”

  
Harry placed his knife down and took a bite of his toast. “You mentioned a studio audience, right? Riddle isn’t the only one judging the food, is he?”

  
“You really need to catch up on what’s happening in the food industry. One judge doesn’t make a contest,” Fred tittered, then perked up. “I forgot to say that George is one of the judges.”

  
Harry’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his fringe. “George is one of the judges? No offense but how did that happen?”

  
Fred huffed. “None taken. George and I are considered a packaged deal. It was only a matter of time before they realized how great we are together and apart. Plus,” he grinned wickedly, “Riddle thought George’s cake designs were above average and offered him a promotion on the spot.”

  
Riddle calling someone above average was liking saying he thought they were the best out of the worst. He probably fired someone and choose George randomly.

  
“Poor George.”

  
Fred barely hid his grimace. “He’s handling it,” he dismissed and then added. “And yours truly is hosting the competition. Snape said I had charisma and belonged in front of the screen.”

  
“So you were the last resort.”

  
“Basically,” Fred chirped, sounding far too cheery for someone who was the last option for hosting a silly cooking competition.

  
“Let’s say I do agree to do this…”

  
“You’re a _life saver_ , Harry!”

  
“Hypothetically speaking,” Harry said quickly, “how does this contest work? Do I have to bring my utensils or something?”

  
“No. The only thing you need to bring is that cute little arse.”

 

“Well,” a light chuckle came from the doorway. “His arse is cute. I would know.”

  
Ginny Weasley walked in the room, delivered a quick kiss to Harry’s lips, and pinched Fred’s cheeks when he greeted her with an eye roll.

  
But all Harry could focus on was the sweat dripping for her forehead and an unnatural red color spreading across her face. Maybe it was just him but she appeared to be paler than normal.

  
Harry leaped from his seat when she grabbed the eggs from the icebox. “I can make breakfast for everyone,” he said. “You don’t have to do that.”

  
Ginny rolled her eyes, more fond than annoyed. “I lost a _spleen_ , Harry. I’m _not dead_.” She hummed, ignoring Fred’s wince. “You have taken care of me these last few months but I can’t stay in bed forever, yeah?”

  
He disagreed. He had no problem placing her in full body suit, under every protective charm in the books and making her take an unbreakable vow to never leave the house again.

  
“Yeah,” he swallowed, nodding. “Okay. Just…take it easy. Not for me but yourself.”

  
“Don’t I always?” she winked and turned to lite the stove. “Now what’s this cooking competition I’m hearing so much about?”

  
Harry snorted, tension releasing from his shoulders as she cracked eggs into the skillet. “You have to stop reading _The Quibbler_.”

  
“Oh hush. It provides me with much-needed entertainment.”

  
“Ginny, tell Harry he needs to sign up.”

  
“Fred, stop telling me what to do. Harry, Fred is right you need to sign up for the competition.”

  
“I’m not a chef.” To him, cooking was therapeutic. He felt great to enjoy in creating something from scratch and watching people praise his food. It was like Quidditch, just with a different kind of rush and excitement.

  
Cooking was his safe haven. The safe place he created inside his mind. If he couldn’t be an Auror then he needed something else to give him adrenaline.

  
He frowned. The way he described himself sounded like he was a liquid luck addict.

  
“Maybe not professionally trained but you’re still one of the best chefs I know. Imagine it, Harry. Working at _Lord Vol De Mort_ , the adrenaline and the excitement of the pots and pans sizzling together.”

  
“If I didn’t know any better I would think you’re a commercial ad.”

  
Fred frowned. “A _what_?”

  
“Never mind.” Harry chuckled. “I’ll do it. I’ll join the competition.”

  
“Thank you, thank you—”

  
“But I’m only doing it for the competition itself. I’m not really looking for a job, per se.”

  
“That’s fine!” Fred said quickly. “Usually the people who win the contest go on to work for Riddle but it’s not explicitly stated that you need to.”

  
“It’s settled then?” Ginny asked.

 

“It is,” Harry confirmed, taking in their wide grins.

 

“Great,” Fred clapped his hands. “Since you accepted... I think now would be a good time to tell you that Draco Malfoy will be there.”

  
-

  
Harry laid wide awake at night with Ginny sleeping soundly next to him.

  
_Was this happiness_? He wondered.

  
He rubbed the inside of his wrist, tracing his soul mark. The snake symbol pulsed and he pressed down the urge to shiver.

  
He had his soul mark since he was a baby. He already met his soulmate and doesn’t remember them. He had grown up in an orphanage until he was four and then he was shipped off to live with The Dursleys.

  
It was rare to have a soulmate during infancy and he wasn’t surprised that his soulmate was older or possibly a Muggle.

He could it be Dennis? Or Amy with the nice smile?

  
When he turned sixteen, he let go of the possibility of ever seeing them again. It used to bother him until he learned that living without a soulmate wasn’t impossible. Painful and lonely but manageable.

  
A year later he discovered that some soulmates were strictly platonic. Ginny’s soulmate was Dean Thomas, who was gay and in love with Seamus Finnigan. Seamus’ soulmate was a male Muggleborn who was disgusted by the thought of same-sex relationships.

  
Dean and Seamus seemed perfectly content.

  
So he asked Ginny out the same day because he liked her. She was nice. So, so nice.

  
Then Dumbledore told him about how is soulmate was Gellert Grindelwald, one of the biggest dark wizards in history.

  
After that, Harry covered his soul mark and ignored the throbbing pain that shot up his arm.

 

His soul mark only caused him pain.

 

If he didn’t know any better, he would think his soulmate hated him.

 

Or worse, his soulmate remembered who Harry was and didn’t want him.

  
He also ignored the fact that he couldn’t feel his soulmate’s _soul_.

  
They weren’t connected as they should be. Their bond was weak and growing weaker every day. His soul mark was starting to fade.

  
And Harry tried hard to avoid thinking about what that meant.

  
Everyone had a soul so why couldn’t Harry feel his soulmate’s?

  
-

  
Harry woke up to Ginny kissing his forehead.

  
“Where you going?” he mumbled, seeing she had clothes on through his blurry vision.

 

“Fred is sick,” she explained quietly, “I’m taking him to the hospital.”

  
“ _Again_?” he yawned and wiped his eyes. Fred seemed to have a lot of health-related issues over the last two weeks. He reached for his glasses but a hand on his wrist stopped him.

  
“Yes. He’s been getting sick a lot lately. I think he has a bug or something. We’ll find out more today.”

  
“Need me to—”

  
“No,” she shook her head. “Go bed to sleep. I have an appointment with my Healer anyway.”

  
“Alright,” he murmured. “Keep me posted.”

  
“Relax, Harry,” she said. “We’ll be _fine_.”

  
And with that, he went back to sleep.

  
-

 

Friday came faster than Harry would have liked. Ginny had gotten him bright and early, cooked him breakfast and practically shoved him out the door.

  
The contest didn’t start until 9 AM and Harry arrived an hour earlier to check in and scope the place and the competition out. Not that he needed to but he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to learn about his competitors. Apparently he wasn't the only one who arrived early. 

He saw a flash of white hair and head of black hair standing next to each other.

He quickly walked in the opposition direction, heading towards the bathrooms.

  
Fred didn’t lie when he said it would take place on the grand stage. There were ten individual kitchens lined up through the building. The audience stands were placed right in front of the kitchens and a long table centered behind it. The judge’s section was his guess.

  
Large protectors stuck out of the wall and lights intertwined between them.

  
Ginny should to be here soon. He needed to see her. He needed a comforting face.

He placed on the bright gray robes they had given and ran his finger over his engraved name on his right breast pocket.

  
“Well, well,” a familiar voice said. “Potter isn’t scared of knives after all.”

 

People were _so predictabl_ e, weren’t they?

  
“Malfoy,” Harry nodded, not bothering to address the other familiarly. “A displeasure to see you as always.”

  
He was dressed in the same gray’s chef robes Harry was given yesterday. It somehow made everything more real.

  
Malfoy scowled. “Always one with the jokes, Potter. But they will only get you nowhere this competition. Luckily for me, I will make a joke out of you very soon. We’ll see who’s laughing then.”

  
“You’re right,” Harry said, turning to face the human ferret. “I got so bored of beating you in school that I decided to carry on that same tradition in adulthood. The biggest joke of the competition isn’t me but you. I can see The Daily Prophet’s headlines now: ‘ _Draco Malfoy loses to Harry Potter in Dueling, Quidditch and now cooking? Wait until his father hears about this’_. ”

 

Malfoy’s face turned murderous and Harry inwardly spooned. He turned to leave when the next words out of Malfoy’s mouth stopped him dead.

  
“Well, at least I have a father to talk with. Your father hated being your father so much, he decided to get himself killed. And you’re filthy _mudblood_ mum followed him.”

  
Harry’s wand already out as he pushed Malfoy against the nearest wall, jabbing his wand into his throat. Malfoy's eye widened in shock.

  
“Say those words again, Malfoy.” Harry’s eyes flashed in warning. His wand sparked yellow. “ _I fucking dare you_.”

  
“Spreading the peace as always, Potter.” Snape’s voice said suddenly.

  
Harry’s day just kept getting better.

  
It doesn’t surprise him Snape was here. It was well known he was a close… associate to Tom Riddle.

  
He released Malfoy and watched as he scrambled away towards the bathroom. A coward never changed.

  
“Are you trying to get disqualified before the contest even begins?” Snape snarled, towering over him.

  
“And shouldn’t you be playing with your chemistry set somewhere?”

  
Snape’s eyes grew colder. “Learning insults from Sirius Black, are you? Your stupidity shows no limits.”

  
“I can say the same for you,” Harry spat.

  
“Get to your assigned station,” Snape snapped. “The show is about to commence.” His long black robes followed him as turned and disappeared the same way Malfoy went. Godfather and godson, Harry thought with a scowl, _how cute._

  
He walked back to the kitchen area and felt a twist in his stomach. Eight competitors were already at their stations. Most were familiarizing themselves in their kitchens, while some paced and others chatted with someone.

  
He scanned the audience and flashed Ginny a smile when he spotted her.

  
The comfort she provided him was unbreakable.

  
His soul mark stung.

  
“Final call,” a loud voice echoed over the area. “This is the final call. All competitors must be in their assigned kitchens in under one minute. All audience members must be seated and remain quiet until further instructions. Fred Weasley, please come to the hosting area immediately. We are now at a three-minute countdown.”

  
Harry hid his shaking hands in his pockets. He hasn’t felt a rush like this since his first day as an Auror. He saw the crewmen fiddling with the projectors and Fred looking confidence in front of the kitchen area. Malfoy stood in the first kitchen and Harry blinked as the number seven appeared on his station.

  
He was number seven.

  
His lucky number.

  
His soul mark burned again.

  
“Alright! Places everyone! Quiet on the set!” A silence fell and Harry swore everyone could hear his loud heartbeat. “All ten competitors are in their places. Projectors are checked and fully working. Kitchens are functional and clean. Judges are on standby. Fred is cleared. We are ready to roll! In five, four, three, two…ONE!”

  
A bright flash waved through the area.

  
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen of the world!” Fred beamed towards the projectors and audience. “Thank you for tuning in for another competition of…”

  
“Britain’s! Next! Chef!” the audience finished, loud cheering and clapping to follow.

  
Harry really needed to start reading The Quibbler.

  
“Oh so I am in the right place then,” Fred chuckled. “I’m Fred Weasley, your adorable host for the competition. And as your host it’s time for me to introduce our judges!”

  
“Up first is Luna Lovegood, who owns her family bakery that has been in business for over seventy years. She’s a dessert expert and loves sweets. But don’t let her sweet personality fool you, she’s one tough cookie. How are you, Luna?”

  
“I’m great, Fred!” She beamed, waving at everyone as she walked out and sat down. The audience cooed.

  
Harry knew her from school and he relaxed instantly. Another nice and familiar face.

  
“Tell us what you are looking for when judging a plate of food?”

  
“A balance of flavors,” Luna said. “A perfect plate is one where you can taste everything in it.”

 

“Excellent advice, Luna. Next up is my personal favorite George Weasley. And yes, we’re twins!”

  
George walked out a stage and sat next to Luna, giving her a tiny hug.

  
“Hello, George.”

  
“Fred, my other half,” George said with a laugh. The audience awed. “How are you?”

  
“That’s my line,” Fred feigned anger. “But I’m good. Tell us the best way to win the competition today?”

  
“Creativity,” George said. “Be creative with your dishes. And have fun.”

  
“Basic as always,” Fred said fondly. “Next up is Blaise Zabini, who was voted the sexiest man alive under the age of twenty-five two years in a row. I don’t see it. Sorry, Luna but _anyways_. Blaise is an expert wine taster and he is Italian and uh, _uh_...”

  
“Thank you for that _wonderful_ introduction, Weasley,” Blaise drawled as he sat down with an air of confidence. “I’ll cut right to the chase since Twin Number 2 has a sudden case of foot in the mouth syndrome. I’m looking for excellent presentation. Food is art. Treat it as so. I will be deducting points for lazy dish presentations.”

  
“How uplifting,” Fred rolled his eyes as Blaise glared. “And our final but most experienced judge and the proud owner of _Lord Vol De Mort_ is… Tom Riddle!”

  
The audience boomed and stood to the feet with loud cheers.

  
The man walked on stage and sat in the last seat as if it were his throne.

Harry stared because it was hard not to. The man was… was undeniably handsome. The magazines didn’t do him justice. The man’s cheekbones alone can make anyone cry. And the man’s blue eyes… Merlin. They were intense as he scanned the competitors.

  
Harry looked away before their eyes met. The man’s gaze lingered on him and his soul mark pulsed again.

  
Great.

  
He needed to see a Healer about that.

  
Fred’s question brought him back to reality. “Any advice for the competitors, Judge Riddle?”

  
Riddle’s eyes finally turned to Fred’s and Harry could breathe again.

  
“I won’t waste my breath. You all will disappoint me. You are weak mindless fools who can’t cook to save your lives. Why wake up every morning just to go to sleep a failure? Second place is the first to lose. If you haven’t won this competition already, it means that you have already lost.”

  
What does that even mean?

  
“Yes, well,” Fred coughed, staring off to the side. So he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t make eye contact with Riddle. “Judge Riddle with, um, reverse psychology, maybe?”

  
“ _Bullshite_ ,” Harry murmured under his breath. Except he talked directly into the mic placed on his robe. His eyes widened as his swear echoed over the stage and all his eyes turned to him.

  
Riddle’s gaze burned the worst.

  
“Uh, Chef Potter, do you have something to add?” Fred asked.

  
“No, er, sorry. I was... _clearing_ my throat.”

  
“Now that sounds like _bullshite_ ,” Fred joked and the tension vaporized as the crowd laughed. “Now that we have met all of the judges, it’s time to go over the rules. There are a total of four rounds: breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert. Each round will consist of a challenge that each chef must complete.”

  
“If you fail to complete the challenge, you will be automatically eliminated. Speaking of eliminations, two of you will be cut after each round. The judges will be critiquing you on taste, presentation, creativity and overall quality of the meal. Each judge will rate your dish one to ten with one being a troll and ten being outstanding. The chefs with the highest averages will move on. If for some reason there is a tie, we will have a tiebreaker. Any questions?”

  
No one spoke up.

  
“Great. The challenge of the first round is… to corporate canned beef and corn into your breakfast dish. And you have only twenty minutes to put your dish together. And your time begins…”

 

There was a pause for dramatic effect and Harry swore he heard a drum roll.

  
“NOW!”

  
As soon as the words left Fred’s lips cans of beef and corn appeared on Harry’s station. He tried not to gag. The inventions people came up with… Real food didn’t come from a can.

  
This was a play on corn beef hash and it was the most obvious route to take. So of course, he had to do something different.

  
An idea hit him. Stuffed French toast.

  
Perfect.

  
He dashed to the pantry area, pulling out the cream, bread, cinnamon, sugar, and other essentials. He heated the griddle and smiled as he saw his creation in his head.

  
Crispy bread stuffed with canned beef and a homemade corn sauce in replacement for syrup.

 

It was classic yet creative. At least he hoped.

  
From there on out things got easier; he cooked the beef on the stove, seasoning and sauteing it so the metal can flavor would disappear. He stirred cream, cinnamon, and almond extract in a large bowl and coated his bread in the mixture. He placed all his bread slices on the griddle and moved on to make his corn sauce.

 

“Ten minutes!” warned Fred.

  
Harry winced as he saw all the sugar. He needed something to balance all the sweetness out. Mint and strawberries would be great as they are bitter and tangy. Adding bacon for saltiness would be this dish truly come together.

  
Where were all these ideas coming from?

  
“Three minutes!” called Fred.

  
Already?

  
Harry cursed, ignoring all the commotion around him. He ran over to grab plates, choosing a classic white plate to tie in with his theme.

  
He placed his French toast on his plate and sliced it apart, placing bacon and beef inside. Next, he topped the crispy bread with his corn sauce, then strawberries and mints with a sprinkle of powdered sugar. All it was missing was whipped cream. He should have thought about that before.

  
“In five, four, three, two…ONE! Paws off your plates.”

  
The audience erupted in cheers and Harry smiled, wiping the sweat off his face and neck. He turned to his competitors, slightly disappointed he couldn’t see their dishes as they have already banished them.

  
“Excellent first round everyone,” Fred said. “It seems like everyone completed the challenge of putting canned beef and corn in your dish. And the first to be judged is… Chef Draco Malfoy. Please represent your dish.”

  
“Gladly,” Malfoy smirked, standing into the spotlight they placed near him. His dish appeared in front of the judges and Harry mentally snorted.

  
_Pasta_? For a _breakfast_ challenge?

  
“For breakfast, I decided to do a breakfast spaghetti. I used the canned beef with real ground beef to form tender meatballs. Made my own pasta and utilized the corn in a creamy egg sauce. Enjoy.”

  
Harry’s heart skipped. Malfoy made his own pasta in twenty minutes? Impossible.

  
“Very interesting idea,” George said after several moments of silence. “It’s whimsical and tasty. I like it.”

  
“I don’t understand the idea behind it,” Luna said with an apologetic smile. “This seems like three separate dishes in one. But I commend you for making your own pasta. I just wished it was used in a proper way.”

  
“I agree,” said Blaise. “The pasta, beef, and sauce is good but doesn’t work together. It’s also lacking in seasoning. A little more salt would have put this over the edge.”

 

Over the edge of a cliff maybe.

  
“Your cooking is a disaster,” Riddle said and Malfoy visibly flinched. “Your meatballs have inconsistency issues. Some are undercooked and others have an unforgivable mushy texture,” He pushed his fork into one of the meatballs and it crumpled. “You cut your pasta too thick so it’s a few touches shy of al dente. The egg sauce was below average and doesn’t belong on your plate at all. You tried to be creative but instead you ended up with a lackluster plate. Your presentation is almost as bad as your food.”

  
“Thank you, Chef. I will take your critiques to heart.”

  
Fred whistled. “The competition is starting off with a bang. And Chef Malfoy you leave round one with an average score of… 7.3! Let’s see if that’s enough to move you on to round two. Up next is…”

  
The judges were tougher than Harry thought. Although he thoroughly enjoyed the judges ripping into Malfoy, it didn’t help that the other competitors after him were far worst. Someone had a score of 2.3.

  
Even Luna wasn’t impressed. It was Luna for Pete’s sake.

  
Only two more people stood before him now.

  
“You call this food?” Riddle demanded at Competitor Five, stabbing his fork into a sausage. “I wouldn’t feed this to a dead animal, let only a living being. That’s how terrible this is.”

  
And another one.

  
“I hope whoever taught you to cook is no longer teaching,” Riddle said, pushing the plate away with his fork.

  
“My mum taught me how to cook!” Competitor Six defended.

  
Finally, someone had a backbone.

  
“Is she dead?”

  
“…No?”

  
“Well, she might be if she tasted this over burnt pancake.”

 

What a twat.

  
Tears started to fall down her cheeks.

  
“Great another sob story,” Riddle sneered. “There’s no room for tears in my competition. Go.”

  
Competitor Six wasted no time running off the stage and into the audience. Harry could see someone comforting her.

  
“That’s good news for the rest of you! Now only one competitor will be eliminated after this round. Our next chef is Harry Potter. Please representation your dish.”

  
Harry blinked and stepped into the spotlight. He visibly cleared his throat and ignored the intense blue eyes staring into his soul.

 

_Here goes nothing._

  
“What I have for you this round is classic French toast stuffed with beef. Corn sauce to act as a syrup. Topped with fresh strawberries and mint to cut through the sweetness. And bacon for the salty element. Enjoy.”

  
He watched anxiously as the judges took their first bites.

  
“This is great,” George beamed first. “French toast is one of my favorite dishes and you definitely did it justice. The best plate so far.”

  
“Thank you, Chef.”

  
“The presentation is simple, yet elegant. I love how you used the beef and corn. I would never guess this all started from a can. I do think the bread can be toasted more.”

  
“Excellent points as always, Luna,” Blaise said. “This dish is surprisingly good. The mint, strawberries, and bacon added levels of flavors that coated well on my palate. The powdered sugar is unnecessary because it added sweetness to something already sweet. A cream would have cut the sweetness even more. Overall, I’m happy with this dish.”

  
“Thank you, Chef,” Harry said and turned his attention to the last judge.

  
Riddle was already staring at him.

 

Soul mark jumped and Harry tried hard not to fidget.

  
“French toast is the best you could come up with in twenty minutes? This dish lacks originality. You cooked the beef and bacon separately which was a waste of time as cooking them together would have enhanced the natural flavors of the meats. By choosing a thicker bread, certain areas weren’t fully coated with your egg mixture. You didn’t properly strain the corn sauce as I can feel tiny of corn specs in between my teeth. This is more like French bread since clearly you don’t know the meaning of toast. I would give this dish a zero if I could.”

  
The critique was fine up until the last line. Harry narrowed his eyes.

  
“Does zero mean empty now?” he asked slyly, unable to stop himself. “Because I can see that you emptied your plate,” then added a beat later, “ _Chef_.”

  
There was a stunned silence. A collective gasp and whispers started in the audience. Riddle blinked in disbelief and continued to stare at him but this time Harry didn’t look away.

  
Surprisingly, Riddle was the one to look away first and stared at something on his arm.

  
Harry’s soul mark stopped hurting suddenly. He could almost feel relief flush through his mark. It made him relax because his soulmate was happy at the moment. The first good feeling he’s got from his soulmate since he was ten.

  
“Well,” Fred cleared his throat. “So that’s…  _that_. Chef Potter, you leave round one with a score of… 8.7! Which means you are definitely moving on to the next round. Congratulations.”

  
Harry nodded in acceptance and took a step back.

  
This competition just got a whole lot more interesting.

  
His soul mark hummed like it agreed.

  
_Game on._

 


End file.
